


Amor gignit amorem

by Amethystina



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: And what caused them, Aside from the mentions of Ronan's scars, It's just cute and warm and fluffy, M/M, The Raven King Spoilers, fluff and introspection, this literally has no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystina/pseuds/Amethystina
Summary: Considering everything that had happened and just how desperately Adam wanted to get away, he hadn't expected to find anything like peace in Henrietta.Trust Ronan to prove him wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I read the Raven Cycle a while back and was _dying_ to write something for it, but I couldn't figure out what. Thankfully, [morozovasraven](http://morozovasraven.tumblr.com/) came to my aid and mentioned something about Adam taking Ronan's leather bands off, and that was enough to spark this thing here. It's not long and it has no plot, but it was fun. Also scary, because writing characters you've never written before always is. BUT, the people over on Tumblr seemed to like it so I'm posting it here too. Thank you to [Patch](http://frayedpatches.tumblr.com/) for offering me the attention and gentle nudge I needed to do just that.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

 

Every once in a while, Adam was struck by how nothing had turned out the way he had expected. Some of it was bad but, most of all, he was surprised by the good things in his life — and the fact that one Ronan Lynch was the cause for a surprising number of them. For a very long time, Adam had thought Ronan incapable of kindness or softness.

Adam knew better now.

There was nothing sharp about Ronan as he lay sprawled on one of the couches at the Barns, reading a cheap paperback. Adam wasn't sure where Ronan had gotten the book from — Ronan had never shown an interest in reading unless it was research to help Gansey, and even then it had been accompanied by heavy sighs and low grumbling — but he seemed surprisingly invested in the generic thriller. Adam, on his part, was lying on the floor in front of the couch with Opal and two of her coloring books, pencils scattered around them like a jumbled rainbow.

The bright sunlight was spilling in through the window, softening Ronan's hard edges. More than once, Adam had gotten distracted by the way the light made Ronan's pale skin glow, or the delicate shadows cast by his eyelashes against his cheekbones. Adam wasn't religious, but from his angle Ronan looked disarmingly ethereal with his casual, loose-limbed grace and sunlight halo.

Adam looked back down at the happily smiling cow he was coloring. Opal lay opposite to him, her hoofs in the air and tongue stuck out in concentration. Adam wasn't entirely sure if she understood the purpose of the coloring book — she was coloring outside the lines instead of inside them — but she seemed to enjoy herself, which was the main goal.

The air was thick with the heat of summer, but not unbearably so. The only sounds were the scratch of his and Opal's pencils, the whisper of Ronan turning a page of his book, and the distant twitter of birds outside.

Adam wasn't sure if he would ever get used to the silence at the Barns. The trailer park had never been quiet, even during the night, dogs barking and people leaving or returning from their work shifts. Even at St. Agnes there had been the distant bustle of cars and the heavy air of worship — a silence loaded enough to feel like spoken words, pressing against Adam's still functioning ear.

At the Barns, however, there were no cars or screaming children. There were animals, of course, but most of them were either sleeping or shyly hiding amongst the nearby trees. There was a hush over these lands, one Adam had no choice but to call _peaceful_. As unusual as the silence was, he enjoyed it.

He felt peaceful at the Barns.

Adam still wasn't sure if he _belonged_ , per se, but he had been given a place at the homey farmhouse — one that felt less like a hole to fill and more like a space to make his own. His jagged edges, polished to a sharpness by the dust and wind of the trailer park, fit surprisingly well against the soft, rolling hills of the Barns. Or maybe it had molded around him, filling all the little cracks until his bones hummed with warmth.

That wouldn't have surprised him.

At the Barns, Ronan was king, and Adam had no trouble believing that Ronan could bend the space to his will, like his father before him. If Ronan wanted Adam to fit in, the Barns would accommodate him — just as easily as Ronan himself had.

There had never been any question about Adam's place at the Barns. Ronan hadn't asked or made a big deal out of it. He had simply dropped a key onto Adam's open textbook one night, telling Adam to use it if he ever needed to. A couple of months earlier, Adam would have bristled when given what could so easily be seen as pity, but there were no demands or expectations in Ronan's voice. Ronan didn't assume that he had any right to tell Adam what to do — he wasn't one to make assumptions, period.

So Adam saw the offer for what it was — the literal keys to Ronan's kingdom, and a promise of a home to return to.

Adam's gaze strayed to Ronan again. Chainsaw sat perched on the back of the couch, sleeping. She might look intimidating to most people what with her size and pitch black feathers, but not to Adam. Ronan's creations had a tendency to be pretty fond of him, for reasons Adam could guess but had never voiced out loud.

They both knew Adam would leave soon.

In less than a month, Adam's first college class would begin. Adam had been accepted, scholarships had been rewarded, and he would finally be leaving Henrietta. Everything was falling into place, just like he had planned. He was finally receiving his reward for all those hours spent elbow's deep in cars and the late nights at the factory.

Bizarrely, he knew that as soon as he left Henrietta behind, he would be counting the days until he could return. Not because of his parents or love for the town itself, but because of Ronan.

He would come back to Ronan.

A part of Adam wondered if things would change between them when he moved, but Ronan didn't seem concerned. Then again, Ronan rarely did — even less so when it involved loyalty.

Ronan's special brand of affection was breathtaking sometimes, and so sincere that it left Adam reeling. Like so many things about him, Ronan's love was sharp and intimidating, but the frightening part wasn't how he expressed it — Ronan was quiet and surprisingly respectful in his affections — but the _size_. The amount of love Ronan was able to hold inside that heart of his was astounding, and Adam had learned that few loved as fiercely and unconditionally as Ronan.

Despite what people might think — despite Ronan's cutting smiles and piercing glares — loving came much more easily to Ronan than it ever would to Adam. Ronan was a creature born from love and dreams, and there seemed to be no limit to either. He gave freely and effortlessly.

Adam wasn't sure when he had earned that kind of devotion, but he would be lying if he said that it didn't leave him with a complex mix of pride and embarrassment. He still felt guilty for how much he enjoyed being the recipient of Ronan's affections — how much he wanted other people to take notice — but it had softened somewhat once Adam had allowed himself to realize that the attachment was mutual. Ronan wasn't giving him anything that Adam wasn't able or willing to return in kind.

Adam was just as disarmingly in love as Ronan.

And, until the day came that he would leave for college, Adam made sure to spend as much time with Ronan as possible. He still went to work and slept at St. Agnes when it was more convenient, but he was racking up quite the gas bill, driving back and forth to the Barns. No one asked that of him, but Ronan was unmistakably delighted all the same, however subtly he chose to show it. There was something incredibly sweet — almost shy — about the way Ronan would look at him when he thought Adam wasn't paying attention.

"What are you staring at?"

Adam blinked and met Ronan's gaze. There was no hostility in Ronan's voice, and his furrowed brows showed confusion rather than anger, as if Ronan _wanted_ to understand what Adam was up to and was frustrated by his lack of success so far.

"Nothing," Adam replied. That might not be strictly true, but he knew that Ronan would tease him if he admitted to staring like a lovesick fool.

Ronan muttered something under his breath, but the words were too low for Adam to hear and he chose to focus back on his drawing instead. Opal ignored them both, clearly having better things to do.

Adam couldn't help smiling when he felt a careful brush against his temple. It was a fleeting caress, the backs of Ronan's fingers just barely touching Adam's skin, but it still felt shockingly gentle. A warm tingle spread through Adam and he made sure not to look up, knowing that Ronan might stop if he did. Adam wanted to savor the moment for as long as possible, and could feel the touch long after Ronan had pulled his hand back to turn another page.

It was the little things, Adam had learned, that made Ronan's love so special. The subtle, careful touches, the thoughtful objects dreamed into existence — hand cream for Adam, EpiPens for Gansey, eye cream for Blue — and the looks, soft and lingering.

It was strange, in a way, that Adam had never felt more otherworldly than when with Ronan. Adam had spent months being Cabeswater's magician — Gansey's magician — but that wasn't the same. Being able to use magic and _being_ magical were two different things.

Adam had never _been_ magical — not like Ronan was — except when Ronan looked at him.

That someone like Ronan — fierce, loyal, and creator of impossible things — would want Adam was almost more unbelievable than the existence of magic. And, more importantly, Ronan had liked Adam long before his deal with Cabeswater. In Ronan's eyes, Adam was worthy long before he became a part of the supernatural world Ronan had always inhabited.

Magic wasn't special to Ronan, but Adam was, even as a simple human. That, more than anything, made Adam feel otherworldly.

He could admit that he missed Cabeswater sometimes. The feeling of being _more_ , and knowing that he had something to offer that no one else could — a way to help Gansey's quest, aside from research and an extra pair of hands. Except Gansey's quest was over now, and he had no need for a magician when touring the country with Blue and Henry.

Surprisingly, the sting of jealousy — the fear of being replaced and left behind — had been brief. Adam was leaving too, after all. If anyone had the right to feel abandoned, it was Ronan, not Adam. And if Ronan did, he never said so.

The summer days had passed quickly at the Barns, warm and golden. There were times when the peace had been momentarily disrupted — thoughts of Persephone, Noah, and Ronan's mother never failed to make Adam's lungs constrict — but those moments never lasted long. Niall Lynch's dreamscape was a place meant for belonging and happiness, not sorrow, and Ronan's additions only added to the soft whispers of _home_ and _safe_.

To be able to exist in the same space as Ronan, Opal, and all the impossible things two dreamers could create was a privilege, Adam knew that. And while he was undeniably awed by the things Ronan could do — the impossibilities of his dreams and the endless space of creation somehow contained within Ronan's body and mind — the moments Adam treasured the most were the simple ones, when Ronan was calm and content. After everything that had happened, Adam liked seeing Ronan at peace.

At the Barns, that happened more and more often, especially if Adam was there with him.

They were used to each other's company by then. They had spent so many evenings and nights at St. Agnes, Adam caught up in his studies while Ronan glared menacingly at the cracks in the ceiling. Ronan's presence had always been distracting back then, but Adam was willing to attribute that to Ronan's general air of hostility and the growing tension between them. At the Barns, with their secrets acknowledged and embraced once and for all, Ronan was surprisingly mellow.

They had a tendency to gravitate towards one another, always settling close enough to touch, should they want to. They rarely spoke — that wasn't necessary for either of them — and the silence was instead filled by the soft rustle of Chainsaw's feathers and Opal's curious explorations of what could or could not be chewed on.

Sometimes, when Adam felt particularly at ease, he could almost hear the comforting, fond whisper of Cabeswater in his deaf ear. He knew that was impossible — Cabeswater was gone. But perhaps it lived on, in each little dream Ronan had brought home, an echo of words transferred along the thin, delicate threads of magic that connected everything to the ley line. It was a beautiful notion that made Adam feel less alone.

Not that loneliness was a problem for him anymore. Sometimes Adam couldn't help wondering if the majority of his feelings of isolation and loneliness had simply been his own blindness — his failure to see just how much Gansey, Ronan, Noah, and eventually Blue really cared about him. Perhaps his pride and need for independence had gotten the better of him.

A loud crunch made Adam look up from his drawing, not surprised to see a yellow colored pencil sticking out of Opal's mouth. If anything, he was surprised that it had taken her so long to start chewing on them again. There were only three pencils that didn't already have bite marks, and Adam couldn't help wondering if there was a particular reason for why she seemed reluctant to chew on the blue ones.

"Hey, brat." Ronan reached down and tugged on the pencil stuck in Opal's mouth, making her teeth clamp down even harder. "What did I tell you about eating the pencils? I won't buy you new ones." Opal gave Ronan a flat, sullen look at the threat, her expression so much like Ronan's that Adam had to look down at his coloring book to hide his smile.

"Opal. No." Ronan still hadn't let go of the pencil, but neither had Opal. "Spit it out."

Ronan had clearly learned that calm, reprimanding tone from Gansey, no doubt from having been its recipient so many times in the past. Unfortunately, since it was never quite guaranteed that it worked on Ronan, the same could be said for Opal. Perhaps she realized that Ronan's threat was an empty one — the pencils weren't bought to begin with, but ones Ronan had dreamed for her.

Overall, Ronan and Opal's relationship was difficult to define. Adam could tell that Ronan wasn't entirely sure what to do with her — an orphaned dream girl accidentally brought to the real world — but he took responsibility for her without hesitation. Despite the harsh way Ronan spoke to her and her surprisingly adult mindset, he made attempts to treat her like a real child. Adam had wondered, more than once, if Ronan considered himself her father.

At the next tug, Opal let go of the pencil, but she didn't look happy about surrendering.

"Don't give me that look," Ronan said with a snort, letting the pencil fall back to the floor. When he reached out and ruffled Opal's blonde pixie cut, she let out a noise that was part growl, part bleat.

When they had first gotten to know each other, Ronan's hands, much like his hard gaze and sharp smile, had been weapons — ways for him to destroy and cause pain. Before, Adam had been used to seeing them bloody and bruised, but now he knew that they could also cradle defenseless baby birds and sleeping mice with heartstopping tenderness. Ronan's hands could be gentle and caring, so much so that Adam forgot how to breathe. Ronan always touched Adam's bare skin as if he was something to worship, tracing freckles and blemishes as if they were priceless treasures. There was never any violence in Ronan when he touched Adam, as if the very thought of him hurting Adam was simply inconceivable.

Before he had time to consider what he was doing, Adam had reached out and caught Ronan's hand in his. Ronan raised an eyebrow but didn't pull back, letting his arm hang down from the couch, fingertips brushing the floor.

To be honest, Adam wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish himself. Slowly, his thumb slid along the back of Ronan's hand, tracing the bony knuckles. Ronan had strong, beautiful hands, meant to catch impossible dreams and wayward thoughts. They were hands that could create life, just as easily as they could take it away.

Adam's gaze was drawn to the ever-present bracelets looped around Ronan's wrist. The leather was soft under Adam's thumb and he wasn't surprised by the hint of teeth marks left by Ronan's incessant chewing. The bracelets were an integral part of Ronan, to the point where Adam simply assumed that they had always been there. As a matter of fact, Adam couldn't remember ever seeing Ronan without them. Gansey might have, but not Adam.

"What _are_ you doing, Parrish?" Ronan sounded both amused and condescending. Adam flicked his gaze upwards, just in time to see Ronan place the open paperback against his chest and raise a pointed eyebrow. There was something indulgent in the way Ronan looked at him — like a predator allowing a weaker animal close enough to touch, but not telling whether it was a trap or not.

Fortunately, Adam didn't see himself as weaker than Ronan.

"Nothing," Adam replied, nudging one of the leather straps upwards. Surprisingly, Ronan didn't stop him.

The scars on the inside of Ronan's wrist were so pale that they looked white, the healed edges harsh and jagged. Even though Adam knew what to expect, he felt his chest clench at the sight. He could still remember a time when he thought Ronan had done that to himself — that the pain of losing his father and being banished from his home had simply been too much. Adam remembered not being surprised when he heard. Secretly, he might even have thought that Ronan was weak for giving up.

Adam settled more securely on his elbows and reached out with his other hand, tracing the bracelets. When he started taking them off, Ronan didn't stop him. He simply tilted his head to the side in an eerily accurate impression of Chainsaw. Neither of them said anything. Adam set the bracelets down on the floor and stared at Ronan's bare wrist. The lack of leather made Ronan look shockingly vulnerable, the scars impossible to ignore.

Carefully, Adam traced them, feeling the raised scar tissue under his fingertips. Ronan's hand twitched in response, but it didn't seem to be due to discomfort; perhaps he was ticklish.

Adam knew that the scars were caused by night terrors — he had witnessed firsthand how savagely those creatures would rip Ronan to shreds if he let them — but he also knew that Ronan's self-hate had some part in it as well. There wouldn't _be_ night terrors if Ronan didn't, on some level, think that he deserved to be punished. Adam didn't even want to know how many different deaths Ronan had made himself live through in his dreams.

Thankfully, as far as Adam could tell, Ronan had fewer of those dreams than he used to, as if he was slowly but surely coming to terms with his own existence. Ronan was calmer — less explosive. The fact that he was once again able to return to the Barns no doubt helped.

Both of them were finding their place in the world.

"Is there a point to this?" Ronan asked, but there was less condescension in his voice this time, his words softer. He still didn't pull his hand away, trusting Adam with his scars and the vulnerable, steady thrum of his pulse.

Adam looked up and smiled. He stroked the long-healed gashes once more, then leaned in and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against the inside of Ronan's wrist.

"No, not really," he replied, words whispered against Ronan's skin. Not one that was easily explained, at least. There were no words to describe someone as complex as Ronan, Adam had learned, and trying to explain his own feelings for him was equally impossible.

It was too big — too vibrant with dreams and magic and love — to ever be properly expressed with something as limited as mere words.

Ronan huffed in amusement. "Weirdo."

A thrill raced down Adam's spine when Ronan laced their fingers together. Ronan's skin looked even paler next to Adam's tan, but there was beauty in that too — in the contrast and differences between them.

"I mean it, Parrish," Ronan insisted, but his gaze was warm and a soft smile was spreading on his lips. "You are such a weirdo."

Adam smiled back, not the least bit insulted. Even Ronan had to know that with the way he said the words, it sounded more like 'I love you' than anything else. The exasperated snort coming from Opal only seemed to confirm it.

"Go back to your book," Adam said, squeezing Ronan's hand, just because he could.

"Don't tell me what to do," Ronan replied, but it sounded more teasing than affronted. Especially considering that he soon complied, holding the book in one hand while his other remained entwined with Adam's.

The wave of happiness that rose within Adam was still new — he hadn't expected just how content he would feel, being with Ronan — but he embraced it. His gaze lingered on Ronan's bare wrist, pale and scarred, and embraced that too — the trust and faith Ronan had in him.

Of all the unexpected things that had happened in Adam's life, this was undoubtedly one of the best. And, judging by the lingering smile on Ronan's lips, the feeling was mutual.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would _love_ to write more for this fandom since I ADORE these characters, but first I need to figure out what. Perhaps and AU or some kind? We'll see.
> 
> The original post on Tumblr can be found [HERE](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/post/154598965077/i-understand-why-dont-you-start-with-something)


End file.
